


Topsy-Turvy

by Mireille



Category: The Foundling - Georgette Heyer
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-11-08
Updated: 2007-11-08
Packaged: 2018-01-25 04:44:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1632254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mireille/pseuds/Mireille
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But the world had turned upside-down, and showed no signs of righting itself; and there was a week until his wedding, and if Gilly wanted to have this, now was the time. (Gideon/Gilly)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Topsy-Turvy

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Kylie for beta-reading, even if she's still not 100% sure what "fanfic" is all about.
> 
> Written for aces

 

 

The Most Noble Adolphus Gillespie Vernon Ware, Duke of Sale,  had no need to run away from home--although, it must be said, if he had done, at least now his family and his faithful retainers might regard his behavior with some measure of equanimity, as he had proven himself more than capable of fending for himself, at least in his own opinion.

But Sale Park was topsy-turvy at the moment, his aunt having directed the housekeeper to embark upon a plan of thoroughly cleaning and airing out every room in the house, in preparation for the arrival of its new mistress. Lord Lionel had promptly declared himself to have some urgent matter which required his attention at Cheyney, and had absented himself at once. Gilly had lasted longer, not wishing to be driven from his own home by well-meaning relations, and yet, after a night spent dreaming that he was being chased by house-maids with feather-dusters, he had determined that his uncle might well have had the right of things, and elected to journey to London that he might visit his cousin.

With Lord Lionel away, there was no-one to send word to Captain Belper of Gilly's arrival, and so Gilly was able, upon his arrival in Curzon Street, to settle in comfortably, and to send word to Albany that he was in town, and that he would be grateful, if Captain Ware were not otherwise engaged, of the pleasure of his company at dinner.

A note came back with considerable alacrity: Captain Ware was indeed free that evening, but wished to offer the hospitality of his table to his cousin, instead, if that would suit. Since Gilly found his cousin Gideon's lodgings far more comfortable than Sale House, he was pleased to accept, and that evening went to Albany, and was shown into the sitting-room by Wragby.

"Slipping your lead again, little one?" Gideon asked, looking up from his newspaper, a smile quirking one corner of his mouth.

"Certainly not!" Gilly replied. "But my aunt has turned the house upside-down in order that no-one might fault the condition in which she handed Sale Park over to Harriet, and it is _most_ uncomfortable!" He smiled as Gideon set his paper aside and unceremoniously waved for Gilly to sit down. That was the sort of casual familiarity Gilly preferred, and while he had come to understand why he could not go on in that manner in his daily life, he intended to seize every opportunity to do so.

"We shall be dining soon," Gideon said, "but come, tell me, how is my father enjoying the pandemonium at Sale Park?"

Gilly chuckled. "He departed for Cheyney straight away," he confessed, "though he assured me he would not dream of failing to be in attendance at my wedding." Gilly had, of course, no doubts on that measure; he was Ware of Sale, after all, and all his relations would be present to see him wed. He felt a trifle guilty at such an uncharitable thought; Lord Lionel would be present out of affection for his ward and nephew, and a sincere desire to see him happy. But oh, Gilly found himself longing again to be Mr Dash of Nowhere, whose wedding-breakfast would be a small and intimate affair.

And now was not the time for such imaginings; he had obviously lapsed in his manners, for Gideon was looking at him with a curious expression, his lips pursed in a frown. "I do beg your pardon!" Gilly exclaimed. "I cannot apologize enough for wool-gathering in such a fashion."

"Adolphus, you great goose," Gideon said, though his voice was warm with affection, "if a bridegroom cannot woolgather when less than a week remains before his wedding, then the world has come to a sad state indeed."

Gilly accepted the reassurances, though he supposed Gideon must think he had been day-dreaming about Harriet, instead of about escaping the grandeur of his aunt's and Lady Ampleforth's plans for the marriage. "There is no problem with your securing leave, I trust? I cannot think that I will be happy if you will not be present."

That strange expression settled itself again on Gideon's handsome features, but all he said was, "Of course! You are the head of my family, and no-one disagreed that I am obliged to attend. But surely, it is _Harriet's_ presence that will ensure your happiness, and not mine?"

Gilly only smiled, unsure of how to answer his cousin when his mood seemed so changeable, and turned the subject to the horses he intended to buy at Tattersall's before his return to Sale Park.

Conversation remained light throughout dinner, although Gilly noted that Captain Ware's wine-glass was refilled far more than was his usual custom. It was only afterward, when the covers had been removed and Gideon's best brandy had been brought out, that Gilly realized again that Gideon was watching him, with that strange, twisted half-smile, so unlike his usual.

"I hope you won't be so stubborn as to refuse to tell me what is troubling you, Gideon," Gilly said a moment later. "You must know that if there is anything I am able to do--"

"Oh!" Gideon interrupted him. "How can I doubt that, Adolphus? I am at least as high in your esteem as Cousin Matthew, so I can have no doubt that you would go charging off to my rescue, ready to beard the lion in its den for my sake." He studied the brandy in his glass for a long moment, before saying, "But some things, little one, you can have no part of."

That concerned Gilly more than Gideon's queer mood had done. He frowned, leaning forward to study his cousin's face. "Gambling debts? You've no real passion for gaming, so they cannot be so bad as that. Give me your vowels, and I shall settle them." And, as he had reached his twenty-fifth year a week before, he would have to answer to no-one about it; he could keep Gideon's indiscretion quiet.

"Certainly not," Gideon said. "Do you really think me foolish enough to go punting on the River Tick? Leave off, now. Once you are wed, you'll be settling Gaywood's debts for the rest of his natural life, I've no doubt; don't be in such a hurry to take on mine!"

"A woman, then." Gilly refused to let the subject rest; he had known Gideon his entire life, and he knew there was something amiss with his cousin.

"Good Lord!" Gideon said. "I am beginning to regret having invited you to dine. I never would have done so, if I had known you would badger me so!" Then, more softly, he added, "I am only a bit blue-deviled. Please, don't worry about it any longer." He sighed, draining the rest of his brandy at a gulp. "And perhaps it would be best if you left me now. I feel certain that I will be drinking more than I ought, tonight, and when I am in my cups--I should not like for the head of my family to see me make a cake of myself."

"Pshaw!" snorted Gilly. "I've seen you foxed before tonight, sap-skull."

"It wasn't a week until your wedding, before," Gideon said, before burying his face in his arms. "Good God! Just let me be, Adolphus."

But Gilly only stared at him, trying to work out what his marriage could have to do with the twisted, bitter curve of Gideon's mouth. "Harriet," he murmured. "Oh, Gideon, I never should have offered for her if I had known--" As dear as she was to him, Gideon was equally dear, and he could have borne her loss had he known he would see both her and his cousin happy.

"Harriet?" Gideon repeated.  "She does very well for you, I think, but she and I would hardly suit."

"Then--" Gilly began, and then stopped. He sipped his brandy, glad for something to do with his hands, something that would keep him from talking while his mind turned that intelligence over in his mind. Then, finally, "Oh, Gideon," he said again, blinking to rid himself of the peculiar feeling that the world had just turned upside down.

"Don't," Gideon said, his voice low with warning. He looked up again, a faint, self-mocking smile on his lips. "Don't, cousin. All will be well enough in the morning."

"I had never thought," Gilly said, but was uncertain of how to end that utterance. Best not to end it at all, he thought; best to rise up from the table and go, and when he saw Gideon again, to never speak of this evening.

But the world had turned upside-down, and showed no signs of righting itself; and there was a week until his wedding, and if Gilly wanted to have this, now was the time. He loved Harriet, and while a man might take a mistress, the scandal here would be such that he would not risk her happiness for his own.

And Gilly wanted to have this, had idolized Gideon as a boy and admired him as a youth, and now, as a man--  "I believe," he said, "that you will find me quite disguised this evening. So much so that you could not see sending me home in this state, and instead, sent word to Sale House that you were putting me to bed here. I shall have the headache tomorrow, I expect, but I shall not regret the wine."

When Gideon smiled again, it was with the crooked smile he reserved only for those he held most dear, and for Gilly, the world suddenly righted itself.

 


End file.
